


Diner at the End of the World

by ChameleonPrints



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonPrints/pseuds/ChameleonPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This happens sometimes during season 8, could be after 8x10 but no specific spoilers beyond Purgatory. (Spoilers: it's a little pwp to start with, or so it seems.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The bar

Dean was tired. The road was stretching out in front of him and at least he had that going for him, but beside the looming darkness, everything else felt sad and lonely. He could have turned on the radio, or talked to Sam, but he felt disconnected from it all. Sam asleep on the passenger seat was a lump of flesh he couldn’t talk to. They had no case to focus on. And, of course, they hadn’t heard from Cas in a while. A while was always too long.  
He almost reached for his phone to call Garth, like he’d almost reached for the radio a couple times already in the last few hours, but feeling like he’d given up was even better than doing something about it. What he really wanted was to have a drink, or a bottle, and crash his mind into the comforting noise of a bar. He’d have given an arm for a strip club, but that stretch of the road was as empty as Crawley’s good will tab. What he really wanted was to hang out with his brother from before Purgatory and Hell, hang out with Cas before he was God, have a beer with Bobby and talk about a game. He’d have settled for a serious chat about work, if it were with Bobby. He had the sour taste in his mouth of missing Benny, maybe Benny would have been the one to get it, the loneliness and emptiness of feeling like a monster. Worse, a useless monster. But there was no Benny at reach, he’d given him up for Sam, he’d given him up to keep himself sane and out of guilt and he’d never felt guiltier. What if Benny, alone, relapsed? Wouldn’t it be his fault? Wasn’t it enough to carry the weight of the world on his shoulder, why did he have to add the actions of a born-again vampire from Purgatory?  
He almost pushed the button of the radio again, but gave up not to wake Sam up. Feeling lonely now was better than feeling alone with Sammy, at least he only got himself to resent, not his little brother.  
A light came onto focus down the road, and Dean didn’t think twice about stopping when he reached what looked like a low-life motel and bar. He had no reason to keep driving, no case to get to, no friend calling for help: he was allowed a freakin’ beer. He looked over at Sam as he exited the Impala and shrugged, leaving him comfortably asleep, or sort of, his legs entangled with his arms so he could fit slouched over himself on the front seat. Sam didn’t even stir when he slammed Baby’s door shut, and Dean headed straight for the bar, not stopping to check on the motel’s vacancies.  
The place was called End of the World and he ordered a whiskey, not looking around, not hearing the music. Then another one before he finally sat down. The joint was much less deserted that he had expected, and not so crappy. Well, there was dust ‘till the eye couldn’t see, but the customers were no worse than him – although being compared to a life-long hunter isn’t much of a high standard.

He was ordering a third whiskey and letting out a long-awaited sigh as the knot between his shoulder blades started to ache less, when he caught sight of the waitress, a brunette who had been cleaning out table out of his sight until then. His instincts kicking in he peered out the window to check on the motel’s lights: vacancies. Maybe getting drunk was the first step and he needed a good lay. After all, he couldn’t get more anonymous than that, a lost bar on a forgotten road with a faceless girl… It had been a while. Sleeping around had been known to dull out his senses, maybe it would even erase a little of the already dulled-out Dean. Dean was sufficiently arrogant to know he was the best looking guy at the greasy spoon, so he went to sit in the waitress area and waited for her to refill his drink. He caught her looking and didn’t hide that he was looking back. She was pretty, small frame and small breasts but her face wasn’t emaciated and she had lovely blue eyes. Her waist looked like it would fit his hands perfectly.  
For a moment he lost track of his flirtation as he looked down at his hands and all he’d been through flashed before his eyes, those hands had carved out pieces of flesh and he had enjoyed it, those hands had cut through monsters when he didn’t know any longer what was white and what was black. Benny, Purgatory, the flying heads of decapitated monsters. He downed his drink and the girl came back to his table. She had been too quick to hide her interest, and he asked her name. She brushed his hand when he handed her the money and he caught it, bringing her a little bit closer.  
-What do you say we get out of here?  
She had blushed and smiled slightly and it had pained him to see that soft smile and those blue eyes because they brought back memories of caring, and he didn’t want to care right now. He wanted to abuse his privileges, take what he could, run and hide. He didn’t want to think of any angels, of right and wrong, he wanted to lose himself into riding her. She ended her shift shortly so he grabbed a beer and went out to the motel to get a room. 

When she finally came out he was leaning against the bar to the side, and gave her that Dean-Winchester-proven look, where he looked up momentarily with a hungry smile and she’d melt. She reached for his hands and although this felt too much like a romantic comedy, he was drunk enough not to care and let her be soft, for now. He didn’t move and she had to close the distance between their faces, kissing him with her eyes open, so freakin’ blue. She just pushed against his lips and brushed his face with hers but he opened his mouth and hungrily grasped at her lips, licking her mouth, his hands on her back already lowering to grab at her. They entangled thus a little while in the darkness of the rest stop against the dirty bar but soon he dragged her to the room, taking back kissing once he had pushed her into the bed.  
She didn’t protest when he quickly undid her clothes, she just looked at him with a smile when he would let go of her lips, mouth open when he would come back. He was hard and he felt comfortable, for some reason this was turning into less of a quick hook-up and more of a hot disheveled fun night. He thought she would be plain, that he would fuck a waitress like any waitress, but he liked that she smiled, how she smiled, as if they shared a secret and he was supposed to be in on it. She caressed his sides and shoulders and he slid down on her body, kissing her stomach and hips, his hands fast touching all over. She grabbed his face and made him come back to hers, her hands firmly cupping his jaw, and he didn’t understood why he didn’t pull away to dig inside of her straight away. He only had to rip her panties away, his own shirt had long been thrown across the room, his jeans were slowly coming off and now stuck somewhere between knees and ankles. He turned around to undo them and get rid of his underpants, and for a moment let go of her skin.  
This loss of connection had him wonder for a brief instant if this was some supernatural creature. How would he, broken Dean Winchester, let someone in so much even for a short while, enough to look at their smile and smile back as if they were- but his thoughts couldn’t go further and his whole brain screamed “dangerous territory”. If this was witchcraft, or an incubus, or some other gross disgusting monster, he just really didn’t want to know right then. The smile was familiar and safe and home and Dean needed home more than anything. A thing he never knew. He sent his hands looking for her flesh again and turned to catch her eyes, their glare well-known to him and again his brain froze for he didn’t want to think of any other blue eyes.  
‘Damn it, Cas!’ he grumbled, before he realized he had spoken aloud. He felt her harden under him, like a jealous lover to another’s name. Her hand went to his penis and stroked him softly like you pet an animal looking for comfort. He closed his eyes, bit his lip, wishing for her to go faster, so hard now, at her mercy. Eyes fiercely closed he reached for her mouth and he tasted her, she tasted like meringue lemon pie and sea salt, he was grinding against her hand, pushing against her hip, and when he opened his eyes to the blue gaze he didn’t flinch, nor when his hand caressing her face encountered short hair, and he kept kissing her even when he felt the budge between her legs. This was wonderful, this was home. And she was hard. But she wasn’t the waitress anymore, and he didn’t know if it was the booze or a spell but it was Cas between his arm, Cas wiggling under him, Cas’ hip rubbing against his hard-on and Cas’ hard-on soon in his hand. And still that very same smile.

Cas turned him onto his back as he laid down kisses along his neck and shoulder, circling his nipple, licking his abs with his tongue barely sticking out of his mouth, hands caressing his sides and soon his thighs, joined by his mouth, lips and tongue alternating between following his pubis’ hair line with slick wet kisses and reaching for his inner thighs, always almost brushing against his member and sack. It was Cas’ face peering out from between his legs as he gave small licks to his shaft’s sides, soon engulfing the head, small tongue pricking and playing until the blood gushing down hurt Dean and he bit his own tongue not to scream. But he didn’t want to come in his mouth and he grabbed Cas’ shoulders to guide him back to his mouth and kiss him deeply, while the angel kept his hand on his cock. Cas lifted himself above Dean, licked his own finger that he rimmed between his butt cheeks and pulled out pretty soon, now guiding Dean’s penis to him, into him, and he sat down on his member without hesitation, still smiling his wicked half smile. The warmth of the enclosed flesh heated Dean’s whole body; it was so tight, so perfect. The hunter’s brain had stopped working a long while back and no longer pondered on the reality of the moment, whether he was hallucinating his angel out of the frame of the waitress or getting to fuck a disguised monster... His head thrown back, holding onto the other’s hips as if his life depended on his, he was letting himself be ridden like a carousel, no longer sure if he was dying or screaming or coming, until the tremors given by Cas’ body made him lose control and come, shouting a single syllable, stars filling his field of vision with gold, red, and finally black. He felt his body go numb inside his playful partner and immediately fell into a deep slumber, the other’s body remaining around him until he no longer could tell the difference.


	2. Morning

The bright sunlight and a loud thumping on his door woke him up the next day and he cringed before wrapping his dignity in his sheets and opening the door to Sam’s face. His little brother was grumpy from sleeping in the car and bad coffee, yet he handed him a cup without a word. Dean sat back down on his bed and as the coffee infused his brain with some semblance of energy, and he looked around the room which reeked of sex. Sam made a face which was half disapproving and half proud, showing he knew very well what his big brother had been up to, although he couldn’t have been further from the truth, but Dean passed on commenting as he was looking around for clothes or an actual person, shortly: any other proof than the messy sheets that he hadn’t had a party of one. No sound in the bathroom. A used condom by the side of the bed, but no one, not one forgotten piece of clothing, no note, no number, not even a lost hair. He pushed the dirty proof out of his brother’s view and motioned for him to turn around as he got dressed. Just to be sure he went to check the bathroom, the closet, while Sam stood there with a raised eyebrow, but they soon went back to the car. 

-Would you look for a case? Dean pushed the laptop onto his brother and tried to make his exiting the car and returning to the bar inconspicuous. He wanted to at least see if the girl was still there. Maybe she’d had to leave for work, and the rest had just been his drunken mind playing a trick on him. He was slightly hung-over although he had felt much worse before without having his subconscious mind have such a circus-freak display of wrongly-assigned affection.   
Gosh: Cas? Really? How could he even be attracted to a guy, let alone an angel, that was ludicrous... How could the broken shell of a man he was, so unworthy of good and God, want to have carnal knowledge of a multidimensional being of celestial intent?! This felt like an heresy, and God knew how lacking of faith he was, for a man who had seen proof, yet this certainly was the most forbidden attraction of all: he, Dean Winchester, unworthy to kill the Whore, desired in his flesh an Angel dressed in a man of faith. For even if this had been a hallucination, an acid trip, something slipped in his drink, there was no denying how hard he had come and how beyond anything else it had felt. 

He entered the bar trying to appear aloof and most likely failing miserably. At first he didn’t see her but soon realized she was at a corner table cleaning up. She existed! He let out a sigh. Embarrassed, he headed for the bar and asked for a beer, the bartender looked at him quizzically and he felt oh-so-uncomfortable. Sammy expected him back soon as he didn’t give him a reason, and he wasn’t about to wait too long for a one-night-shag with a waitress who would probably find him creepy. But he had to be sure. Maybe this was a spell, maybe she smelled like sulfur, or something, and he had been too wasted to notice. His brain now running on paranoia wondered if the whole bar was in on it. 

She finally turned around as he was grasping at her name in his memory: ‘Claire? Cassandra? Cassie? Damn you, Castiel!’ and going against any scenario he’d made up in his mind, she simply didn’t pay attention to him. Looking at her insistently he waited for her to return to the bar with an order and stared with a focused Dean-Winchester-is-hot look, still she seemed as if she could care less. Desperate, he cleared his throat and went up to her.   
-I’m sorry, hi, hum, I’m just a little fuzzy on last night’s events and… -  
Gosh, he felt like such a girl saying this, as one of those annoying women he’d slept with but hadn’t caught on the fact their relationship wouldn’t contain any repeats. And he imagined that the look the brunette was giving him now closely resembled his own in previous affairs.   
-Do I know you? She replied, and she seemed genuinely surprised.  
He cringed. Maybe it was a spell indeed. Demon possession?   
-Do you remember... last night?, he asked, his voice less under-control that he’d hoped.  
She lowered her eyes.  
-I… I think I stayed at home. I was sick. I…   
She was now obviously trying to go around him, as if such a thing could be done discreetly in the middle of a conversation.   
-Did it smell like… rotten eggs? He asked, feeling the weight of his hunting fall back into place, this becoming a case instead of a personal matter. He would go get Sam and they would check her house, look for sulfur, sneak around… Kill something.   
But the girl shook her head no before exiting towards the kitchen.

Dean remained standing, disconcerted. He should really go get Sam. But how to explain? How to avoid putting Cas in the middle of the story? What if his brother wanted to ask the angel for help? That was the worst thing that could happen; Dean could not face Castiel right now- or ever. But no matter how he discovered it, there was something odd at play here and he couldn’t turn a blind eye on it.   
So he walked back out the door calling for his brother, only to discover him leaning against the Impala in a discussion with… an angel in a trench coat.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first time I wrote any het so I apologize. Thank you for reading! This might continue...


End file.
